The Exclusive
by Kayliana
Summary: A hotshot reporter devises a clever way to get an exclusive interview with Batman-but it doesn't go quite as planned, and he learns a few unexpected things about Gotham's top two "public enemies"...Oneshot. Implied Batman/Joker SLASH.


**A/N: This story contains OCs, one of whom is central to the plot, BUT DON'T WORRY—I will NEVER, ever oc-pair Batman or Joker. I just won't. Also, this story contains Batman/Joker SLASH—if you don't like slash or this pairing, then don't read.**

**A/N #2: I sat down yesterday with the intention of writing chapter 3 of An Offer He Couldn't Refuse, but **_**this **_**came out instead. Heh, you other writers know how it is :) I hope this entertains you in the meantime. *scampers off to work on AOHCR for realz this time***

**Disclaimer: I own Jamey the hotshot reporter, Bill the generic doorman, and Marissa the token hot chick. They are intentionally cliché, because this is humorfic, after all. Anything recognizable belongs to Kane, Nolan, DC, etc. This is purely for fun, not profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"Hey Bill, would you mind letting me in?" inquired Jameson Price, a tall and well-dressed nineteen year old with shoulder-length fashionably messy ginger hair. Usually confident and outspoken, today he seemed kind of sheepish—and for a good reason.

"Sorry, Jamey," the doorman replied. "I know about the suspension, and I'm not supposed to let you in."

"Come on, just for a minute? I just need some stuff out of my desk."

Bill sighed, looking at Jamey with a mix of sympathy and affection—everyone at GCN liked Jamey, and personally Bill thought the way that Management was treating the kid was total bullshit.

"All right, make it quick," Bill conceded, watching Jamey's eyes light up as he unlocked the door.

"Thanks, Bill!"

"If you get caught I'm saying you held a gun on me," Bill joked.

"Yeah, whatever," Jamey grinned at the doorman before hurrying inside and heading for the stairs.

Jameson Price was the youngest field reporter to ever be hired by Gotham City News—at the age of seventeen, fresh out of high school, he had handed GCN concrete proof that the Anatomy teacher at his high school had been taking a "hands-on" teaching approach with some of the female students. Short-staffed at the time, GCN had hired Jamey and allowed him to report the scandalous story himself rather than giving it to a more experienced reporter—and their gamble paid off. Jamey was a natural, and the story gained nationwide attention and launched Jamey's career, as well as his reputation as a precocious and edgy young reporter. However, over the past two years, the same qualities that made him popular with viewers also tended to get him into trouble—such as his recent human interest piece that made some interesting speculations about the mayor's proclivities for wearing eyeliner. That particular story had resulted in GCN being flooded with angry calls from the mayor's office and the loss of some of the station's government funding. Never mind that the public found the story hilarious, or that ratings went through the roof that week—Jamey received a month's suspension without pay, and was presently in the doghouse as far as his employers were concerned.

But Jamey had a plan to change all of that—something guaranteed to redeem him and immortalize him forever in the annals of famous reporters—he was going to do the impossible: get an exclusive interview with the infamous Batman.

He already had his plan worked out—all he needed now were a few tools of the trade. Jamey emerged from the stairwell on his floor, the 38th, and quietly entered the mostly-deserted office area—he had timed his arrival to coincide with most of the other employees' lunch breaks. He reached his desk and unlocked the bottom left drawer, grabbing a handful of small electronic devices and stuffing them into his pocket.

"What do you think you're doing with those?" a smooth female voice said from somewhere behind him.

_Shit—busted. _Jamey straightened up and turned around to face his co-worker and sometimes-friend sometimes-rival Marissa. She was 22, nearly as tall as Jamey, and breathtakingly beautiful—she knew it, too, and frequently used it to her advantage. Even though he considered her a friend, sometimes he still ended up on the receiving end of her manipulative charm and couldn't tell whether she wanted to sleep with him or steal his latest story or all of the above.

Jamey smiled in what he hoped was a disarming manner and replied, "Just borrowing them for an assignment. No big deal."

"Assignment? That's funny, I thought you were suspended."

"Yeah, _technically_, but—"

"No, let me guess—some kind of _top secret_ mission," she said sarcastically, leaning closer as though she would kiss him if he told her what she wanted to hear and smiling slightly. "Am I right?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," he replied, smirking back, leaning in even closer and calling her bluff.

Marissa rolled her eyes and took a step back, abandoning the seduction routine, and said, "All right, can we cut the shit? Whatever you're planning, I want in."

Jamey bristled. "No offence, but this is kind of personal." This was going to be _his _quest for redemption and claim to fame, and he didn't want her muscling in on it.

Marissa smirked and said, "Well, the tech department might take it _personal_ if they were to find out who's been hoarding their spycams."

That would probably add a few days to his suspension.

"Do you _really_ want to throw in with me after the 'Eyeliner Fiasco'?" he asked, making air quotes around the boss' favorite term for the story that had gotten him into this mess. "Not really a smart move, strategically," he continued, hoping to distract her.

"Neither is 'borrowing' undercover surveillance equipment," she retorted, making her own air quotes.

Jamey sighed. He really didn't want to give up his spycams, or to have extra time added to his suspension—and maybe he _could_ use a wingman (so to speak) on this plan after all…

"If I let you in on this, you have to _swear_ to total secrecy. This is unauthorized, and dangerous, and probably illegal," Jamey solemnly warned.

"Sounds like fun. Come on, spill!"

Jamey took a deep dramatic breath and revealed, "I'm going to get an interview with the Batman."

Marissa raised an eyebrow. "And how are you going to manage that? The guy's completely off the grid, not to mention a wanted criminal. What makes you think he would risk getting caught just to talk to you?"

"I'm not going to give him a choice. Come on," he said, heading back towards the stairs and motioning for her to follow. "If you really want in on this, we need to go get ready. I'll explain the plan in the car—there are a few more things I need to pick up."

"Oh, I'm _definitely_ in," Marissa said, following him.

Jamey opened the door to the stairwell and held it for Marissa, asking, "By the way, do you happen to know where I can buy some greasepaint?"

* * *

Twelve hours later, midnight found them in a dark alley in the back of Marissa's van—Jamey putting the finishing touches on his costume, and Marissa preparing the recording equipment.

"You know," Jamey said with his back to Marissa, slathering white greasepaint onto his face and using the window as a makeshift mirror, "I can't believe that a girl as young and pretty as you drives a freakin' _minivan_."

Marissa pinned a tiny spycam disguised as a button onto the purple trench coat she held, and replied, "Is that a compliment or an insult?"

Jamey ringed his eyes in black, then took out a tube of red lipstick, smearing it on his lips and up across his cheeks. "I haven't decided yet."

Marissa smiled, clipping a tiny microphone/recording device to the lapel of the jacket.

Jamey had already colored his hair with a temporary green dye—he had piled it on top of his head under a hat to avoid awkward questions when he left his apartment. Now he took off the hat, letting the green hair spill around his painted face like a curtain.

He turned to face Marissa and said, "How do I look?"

She glanced up at him and gasped. "Holy shit—you look just like him."

He did share a similar facial structure and hairstyle, and he was about the right height and build—the only thing missing was the scars, but hopefully in the darkness the makeup would be a convincing enough illusion. Jamey tilted his head down and gave Marissa the creepy psychotic grin he had been practicing.

"Ew, stop it," she said.

Jamey ignored her and licked his lips, chuckling a little.

"Seriously Jamey, quit that," she demanded. "You're giving me chills."

"That's the point," he said. "I managed to get copies of those videos he sent out. I studied his movements and behavior—I can't do his voice worth shit, but as long as I stay quiet and move like he does and lick my lips a lot, it should be convincing enough."

"Can we just_ do_ this already? I hate this part of town," Marissa complained.

"Well, it would hardly make sense to pull this stunt in the Palisades. The Narrows is where the most crime is—hence, that's where Batman will be. Plus, we're going to call the cops—hopefully Batman will intercept it and show up first."

"All right, let's go," Marissa said, sliding open the van's side door.

"You've got the backup camcorder, right?"

"Yup," she said, patting the pocket of her own less ostentatious trench coat. "Try not to rough me up _too _much, mister madman," she said flirtatiously as they climbed out of the van and into the alleyway.

She held the purple trench coat up and Jamey stepped into it.

"Just _try _to be convincing," he said.

"Worry about your own part," she snapped.

Jamey adjusted the coat, making sure the spycam was unobstructed. "I feel like there should be some rock music in the background or something," he said.

Marissa chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Dork."

He ignored her and said overdramatically, "Let's _do _this!"

* * *

The Joker stepped out of the former drug-dealers' lair—_former _because he had just killed everyone inside—and wiped the bloody knife on his pants. Batsy wouldn't be pleased when he found out—and Joker had no doubts that he _would _find out, sooner or later—but the assholes had been asking for it. _Really_, moving in on _his _territory in the Narrows and selling some kind of bastardized drug they dared to call 'Joker Dust', the implication being that it would make users as crazy as the Joker—he took it as an insult to both his sanity and his reputation, and he had been _very _creative with his punishments. He was pretty sure he had invented at least three new forms of torture, and that no one had ever used a corkscrew quite like _that _before—the _sound _that eyeball had made when it popped out, heh, just beautiful. When everyone was dead, he'd poured out every flammable liquid he could find in the building, and set the entire mess on fire.

He stood there on the sidewalk in front of the smoldering building, breathing in the cool night air and basking in the afterglow of mass murder—it gave him a high that was second only to his, uh, _excursions_ with Batman.

Speaking of Batman, Joker figured he'd better clear out before Batsy showed up—fresh bodies always seemed to piss him off for some reason.

He had only taken a few steps when something interesting ahead caught his eye—a woman came pelting out of an alley and towards a phone booth. She dialed, yelled some things into the phone that he couldn't hear clearly from this distance, then looked back at the alley she'd came from and took off running down the street again. Joker kept walking, only halfway paying attention—that is, until he saw _who_ was chasing the girl.

"Are you fucking _kidding _me?" he muttered incredulously—it would appear that Batsy wasn't the only one with copycats. He watched his lookalike take off after the woman, then Joker started laughing and followed them both.

This was shaping up to be a long, fun night.

* * *

Jamey raced after Marissa, cackling like a lunatic and hoping she wouldn't go down a dead-end alley before Batman decided to show up—if this was going to work, the timing would have to be perfect—although it would really just be a matter of luck.

He followed her through a maze of alleys and backstreets—so far, so good—there was always another corner to turn, another path to take to prolong this farce. She went left, right, left, left again, right, and—_oh shit._ A dead end.

_Damn it_, Jamey thought. It was too soon—there had been no sign of the vigilante yet, but they would have to play it through, just in case he _was _watching—it had to seem real.

Marissa cowered against the brick wall looking around frantically for a non-existent escape. Tears ran down her face, smearing her meticulously applied makeup. Jamey mentally kicked himself for ever doubting her acting skills.

He took a knife from his pocket, licked his lips a few times for good measure, and advanced on her in what he hoped was a menacing way. Ten seconds later there was a rustling sound, and he was hit by a freight train and pinned face-first to the wall—at least, that's what it felt like.

"Get out of here," Batman called to Marissa. For a second she merely stood there and stared, reflecting that this had been a very, very bad idea, then she brushed past Batman and hurried to the end of the alley—there were three possible alleys to choose from, and she went left, concealing herself in the shadows and pulling out the camcorder.

Batman watched until the girl disappeared from sight, then turned his attention back to the man he had pinned to the wall. "What the hell were you doing, Joker?" Batman growled into his ear.

Jamey opened his mouth and was about to explain the situation and try to conduct his interview as planned, but Batman pressed against him even harder, shoving his face against the wall and rendering speech impossible.

"No, shut up," Batman growled into his shoulder. "You wanted my attention, you've got it." Batman grabbed a fistful of green hair and twisted it painfully.

Jamey was having trouble breathing, being pressed so tightly against the brick wall, and in addition to that, now he felt a gun against his lower back. _Wait a minute, _he thought, _Batman doesn't carry guns…_ Then it dawned on him—that wasn't a gun. _Oh shit._

Jamey decided at that moment that this was undisputedly the worst idea he had ever had.

Batman let up for the three seconds it took to rip the trench coat off and throw it to the ground, then he shoved the man back against the wall, where he didn't even attempt to fight back.

Frustrated, Batman growled, "Why aren't you fighting?" They _always _fought first—it was practically their foreplay. He wasn't _laughing_ either, which was definitely odd. Batman grabbed the man's face and forced him to look at him—but the skin he felt was far too smooth.

_No scars_.

And there was something in the man's eyes that Batman had _never _seen in the Joker, and that was _fear_.

Batman froze, mortified, finally realizing, _this is not the Joker._

* * *

The real Joker had caught up to the scene about thirty seconds ago, and he'd been standing in the shadows and watching with wide-eyed amusement—but thirty seconds proved to be the threshold at which his jealousy took over and demanded action.

"Ya know, Batsy," he said, stepping into view, "if you wanted a threesome, all you had to do was ask."

Batman whirled around at the sound of the voice—_that _was unmistakably the real Joker.

Jamey also recognized the voice, and concluded that the universe must truly hate him.

Batman released the imposter and took a few steps back, still horrified at what had happened, and what _could've _happened. He turned to the Joker and said, "I—" but he broke off and decided to just keep quiet, since he had no idea _what_ to say. He felt like a total idiot.

"It's okay, Bats," Joker said, chuckling and stepping closer, a none-too-subtle warning lurking beneath his words, "I _know _you're not stupid enough to ever cheat on me—_right_?" He snaked a hand behind Batman's neck and pulled him down into a possessive kiss. Batman allowed it and kissed back briefly—which was as close as he would ever come to making that kind of a promise to the Joker. After a moment Joker pulled away and whirled around to face Jamey, who was backed against the wall and staring at the pair in utter amazement.

"_You_, on the other hand," Joker said, "are _very _stupid for thinking you could impersonate _me _and go on breathing."

Jamey froze, thinking, _oh shit_ for about the millionth time that night. "I—I just w-wanted an interview," he stammered stupidly, his mind still stuck on the fact that Batman and the Joker were apparently _together._

"You're a _reporter_?" Batman asked—and he had thought that this night couldn't possibly get any worse.

Joker laughed. "Oh, this is priceless. You got a camera on you somewhere?" he asked Jamey, a knife appearing in his hand. "A wire? Hmmm? _Don't lie,_" he sing-songed, waving the knife.

"In—in the coat," Jamey confessed—even a story _this_ big wasn't worth his life.

Joker ransacked the coat, finding and removing the spycam and the recording device. He handed them both to Batman, who tucked the devices into a pocket of his utility belt.

"Now," Joker continued, "_what _to do with _you_?" He gave Jamey a chilling grin, then glanced at Batman and said, "Hey Batsy, I found a _bitchin'_ new use for a corkscrew—wanna see?"

"No," Batman said, seeming to have finally regained his senses. "We're leaving."

Joker pouted. "So soon?" Then he thought of something and had to suppress a giggle, "Hey Bats," he called, raising the knife back to the lookalike's throat and affecting an overdramatic soap-opera tone, "if you leave me, _I'll kill myself!" _he shouted, and erupted into laughter.

"I mean it," Batman said, not amused. He caught Jamey's eye and said, "_This_," making a vague gesture that kind of pointed between all three of them, "never happened. Got it?"

Jamey nodded emphatically.

Joker licked his scars, looking bored, but he decided to go along with Batsy's plan. He loomed over Jamey threateningly and said, "If I hear even a _whisper _about this in the news or anywhere else, I _will _track you down, and—" he leaned right next to Jamey's ear and muttered something that Batman couldn't hear, but that he assumed was truly horrific, judging by the expression on Jamey's face. "Twice!" Joker finished loudly, making Jamey flinch. "Do we understand each other?" Joker asked, grabbing Jamey's head and forcing him to nod in agreement. "_Good_."

Joker shoved Jamey away from him and glanced at Batman, who had started to walk away.

"Hey, wait up!" Joker called, catching up to him and falling into step beside him. After a few steps, Joker playfully leaned over and bumped into Batman with his shoulder. Jamey stared. Another few steps later, Batman bumped him back. Jamey heard the Joker giggling, then the pair was lost to the shadows.

Jamey stared after the two nightmares, halfway expecting Joker to come running back and yell 'April Fools' and kill him, but it didn't happen.

When Marissa reappeared from her hiding spot, Jamey nearly had a heart attack.

"Holy fucking shit," she said. The camcorder was in her hand.

Jamey thought it was a miracle that neither of the costumed psychopaths had noticed her—but, then again, they _had _been a bit distracted.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Jamey's vision was fixated on the camcorder. "Did you get all of that?" he asked weakly.

"You bet I did!"

Jamey silently motioned for her to hand over the camcorder. She did, never slowing her speech, "Oh my god, this is going to make headlines—they're freaking _dating!_ Holy shit, this is going on GCN, hell, _all _the news channels. _And _YouTube!"

She didn't notice Jamey opening the camera and removing the miniature DVD until it was too late.

"Hey, what are you—?"

Jamey broke the disc in half, then fourths, then threw it on the ground and stomped on it, then set it on fire.

"What the fuck?" Marissa yelled. "That was our ticket to fame! You idiot!"

"Trust me," he said, with the Joker's very specific threats still echoing in his mind, "it's not worth it."

* * *

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